Lyrics Flippin' Chiccens - C-Bo

Flippin' Chiccens

We flip more birdies than Kernels chicken
And I ain’t shit without my niggas and my bitches
Y’all can’t see me, 3-D on T. V
We the T-H-U-G-L-O-R-D's
Y’all niggas that don’t know me why the loc be frontin?
Just cuz 38 a day I’m bluntin, trey 8 for nuttin
But incase for the waist for bustin, close range erase your bluffin
Like major snuffin, blaze the oven
Boiling hot everytime I drop
Metaphor get caught get addiction like rock on the block
And my Glock closed down shop
It’s like «Cops» I’m a Bad Boy
Catch me frontin back in the rag, boy
C-Bo keep niggas all up in they peepholes
But hold up I’m lethal like blowin up a Reagle
Full of your people, Desert Eagles to your kids
I’m sick and I can’t help myself
Somebody please help me before they melt me
But naw dog you ever felt me
So it’s a must that I clutch guns pop pills
To keep my feelings real, illings will but hold up
It’s a bust of the dough blow up
I bet that I make the world get these Nike’s like sho nuff
Teck, I’m Cowboy the pistol holder, the missile loader
Call me Christmas, death wish under the missile toe-ah
Off of Crys will I piss or throw up?
They diss and load up
Roll through the scene with a peace sign as they get blowed up
Mob figure til I die, Westside off the roof with the bubble lie
Y’all don’t want no trouble, guy
You rap about all that ice I could had that
Grab that, make you stab that and blast that but I’mma pass that
We ruthless, we get em up until they toothless
Killin me on the West Coast nigga it’s useless
I run from Seattle to Dago with my lasso
Callhourt to Paso, new force from that Avanal
29th Street to Avalon
Long Beach, Compton, Watts, E. C's and Magnums
357, Ghost Town, Gebermona
Hoovers and 6-O's the rest better get ghost
Fuck with real niggas that bang
Not a bitch ridin a dick or the next nigga gang
With a teck that I stang from the neck to the brain
When I step in the range I get respect you know I flame
Boilin hot, make my gat roar on the spot
Disrespect the block fuck how much they got, the cops
When my weasle go pop you gets the last sound
If he ain’t dead when I dump then we beat his ass down
I pack two Glocks, drop bodies with two shots
Run a code if they got bitch it’s gots on the rocks
When my pen and pad connect, plaques I collect
Then gats I collect to keep these nacks in check
You wanna handle this with guns the stamina, son
I run tons for Pamela, one show shit forget the dough
I’m all in the get the blow
Fully automatic, cuzz, you know how shit get go
Flipmode when shit work more than a ship load
And a grip flip like in a double zip code
Your whole city locked down til the big bird drop
Cut for the recoppin color gettin for the block
Dancin, ballin snortin coke at the mansion
Add a mill plus like what the fuck
Ecstacy pills and kill, boy we play in the fields
And that 4 mill we spent sittin way in the hills